Break the Fast

I set my goal to eat breakfast last month, and it took a couple of weeks but I ate it twice last week.

Last Thursday, I ate it. Every part of me knew that it was something foreign.

The Ed thoughts durning lunch and dinner were pounding loud in my ears but I ate.

At night, the thoughts grew too loud, and the guilt over eating three meals set in and the Ed behaviors took over.

Friday morning, I was determined to eat breakfast without having everything spiral down.

I ate breakfast and lunch.

Then, my friend invited me to dinner and a movies.
Eating out at restaurant is pretty much the scariest thing next to eating breakfast for me.

She saw me hesitate and I saw the hurt in her eyes. I ate dinner and the snack durning the movie. I can't remember what we talked about or what the movie was about because my mind was focused on one thing.

The exit, the release.

On Saturday, I was so tired. The body goes through so much wear and tear with this disease. I slept in through breakfast and lunch.

I ate dinner with my family. I was so tired and I sat at the table, like a ragdoll. I ate what was served and went back to sleep.

It's Sunday morning, and breakfast was waiting for me.

Two eggs and two pancakes.

A sharp contrast to the lines and blurred colors, i'm used to seeing.

"There is only one of me!" I argued.

"That's why we're doing this!

"There is only one of you, and we don't want to lose you!"

I ate.

"The other part of you, the one that weighed 55 pounds more, the one that wouldn't make us cry, is already gone and I don't know why it's so hard to get her back."

It's not the eating that is hard. It's the feeling afterwards that hurts and makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's been about two hours since I ate breakfast, and I'm still anxious.